When Opportunity Knocks
by Keegan Elizabeth
Summary: What happens when an old friend of Sara’s from college shows up in Vegas? Why is he there and is he competition for Sara’s affection?
1. An Unexpected Arrival

A/N: A huge thank you to Sara for her critique of this chapter.

Disclaimer: No ownership is meant or implied by writing this story. Neither CSI nor its characters belong to me.

* * *

"Hey, honey. Got a second?"

The voice comes from directly behind her, and it's masculine, deep, and wonderfully familiar.

She turns immediately and smiles, rushing into his open arms. She hugs him tight; he's taller and easily lifts her, her feet suspended precariously in the air as he twirls her around in a circle, twice. Laughing and incredibly happy in the moment, she brushes a soft kiss to his cheek before demanding he put her down.

Just as she regains her footing, she hears the sound of someone clearing his throat and lifts her gaze to see Grissom standing two feet away. Her smile drops a fraction as she lets go of her visitor's arms, stepping to his side.

"Grissom." Her eyes shift back toward her friend, then to him again. His blue eyes, several degrees cooler and questioning, level with hers.

"Sara."

An awkward, heavy silence fills the invisible, expansive _always-there_ space between them.

Until he steps forward, takes charge, and extends his hand. "Hi, I'm Drew." He shakes Grissom's hand before moving back next to Sara again. "And you must be Sara's boss. I'm sorry if I'm causing any problems showing up unannounced—"

"You aren't," Sara interrupts, finding her voice again. "Grissom just lost his manners for a second…" She breaks off, shifts, turning her body toward Drew, and away from Grissom. "I've got some time before my work night starts why don't we—"

"Sara, hey," Warrick greets her, as he and Nick join the three of them in the middle of the Lab's hallway. Nick adds, "Who's your friend?"

She tries not to be frustrated by all the interruptions, since this is work, but what she really wants is to grab Drew's hand, pulling him into some corner so that they can…

Instead, she makes introductions.

"Guys, this is Andrew Howard," she gestures to him first, and looking at Drew, she adds, "Drew, this is Nick and Warrick. My coworkers."

After the _nice to meet you_'s are said and hands are shook, Nick looks at Drew, sizing him up. "So, how do you know our Sara?"

She rolls her eyes at Nick's use of the possessive in front of her name and Drew speaks. "We've known each other since our days at Berkeley, and no matter how much time passes or distance is between us, she's still my best girl."

"I didn't realize you cared so much," she teases him, even as his words serve to both charm and embarrass her.

"Uh-huh," he says. "You know it's true."

She says nothing, just smiles because it is.

"So does this mean you can give us some dirt on Sara?" Warrick asks, sidling up closer to Drew, as if they were best buds.

Sara flushes, Drew laughs.

"Yeah, I can," he promises. "I've got some really great stories."

"Thanks for selling me up the river so fast," Sara says, smacking him lightly on his arm.

Nick and Warrick stare on amused while Grissom stands to the side, his back against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest, taking in the exchange.

"You got to tell me now though," Nick asks, lowering his voice and speaking in a staged whisper, "was she a party animal?"

_Oh, __good God_, she thinks, _what is this, twenty questions?_

Drew grins wickedly. "Yeah, like you wouldn't even believe it."

"Drew," she says sweetly, honey coating his name. He turns his head, looks at her. "You remember the story of Pinocchio, don't you? And what happens to him every time he lies…"

"I know it," he says, nodding solemnly, then flashes his teeth again, "but if the stories are true, I've got nothing to worry about."

The boys laugh, and she just shakes her head. He was impossible.

From the corner of her eyes, she sees Grissom walk away. _Don't-don't worry about it. It's not your problem. It's his._ She glances down to check her watch, to mask the hurt she knows will be reflected in her eyes, and realizes that it's already time for work.

"Hey, shift's starting now, so uh," she stops, glances at Nick and Warrick's interested faces, then pulls Drew a couple feet away to finish the conversation and say goodbye.

As Drew walks away, Catherine passes him and stops in front of Sara and the boys. "Who was that?"

"Sara's friend," Nick answers.

Catherine glances back at the man turning the corner and lets out a low, appreciative whistle. "Sara Sidle! Where have you been hiding that gorgeous, gorgeous man? You've been holding out on us…"


	2. Breakfast Banter

A/N: Sara, again, thank you.

For those interested, this story takes place some time in the (distant) future after "Crash and Burn" (epi 3x17).

Disclaimer: See first chapter. I will add though that I 'own' the OC, Drew Howard.

* * *

She walks out of the locker room, a lightweight jacket folded over her arm, purse hanging by her side, and into the brightly-lit hallway while thinking she's glad to be finished with work, _finally_.

The night's grueling nature had nothing to do with the assigned case and everything to do with him.

Shift had been tense with Grissom, for _only God knows why_ reason, assigning them to work a DB together. She's not sure she'll ever really understand him. He had spoken but a few words to her the entire night, all professionally-related, all short and clipped in tone.

By the time they arrested and booked the suspect she already felt she was on the tipping point – of what, she did not know. She just knew she needed to get out of there, and away from him, and fast.

_Look on the positive side_, she tries to tell herself, if he had paired her with anyone else, especially Catherine, she would have spent the entire shift dodging questions about Drew.

Knowing that doesn't make her feel any better.

She sees him standing, waiting outside the double-doors of the Crime Lab, as if her thoughts alone had the power to conjure him up, and she begins to smile. The weight she'd been feeling, finally lifting away as she closes the distance between them.

"Hey. I thought I was supposed to call you?"

"Yeah, well, I went back to my room, grabbed a couple hours of sleep. Did some work, got frustrated and decided I needed a break and sort of ended up back here. Hope you don't mind?"

"Of course not, I was going to call you anyway and see if you were up and wanted to grab breakfast," she says.

"Sounds good, except for the grabbing part."

Her face displays her confusion and he explains.

"Before coming here, I stopped by a grocery store and bought the basics for making breakfast, since I know you're the queen of takeout who probably only has expired – or soon to be expired – soymilk and yogurt in her refrigerator right now."

"I'm going to ignore your disparaging comment about my lack of kitchen skills," she says, sounding more amused than upset, "and instead, say thank you. Having someone cook breakfast for me… my day's already improving."

He drapes an arm around her shoulder, giving it a quick comforting squeeze. "You can tell me about your work night while I cook," he offers.

"Actually, I rather forget about work, but thanks." She smiles in appreciation, even as she realizes that by standing right outside the Lab's entrance, a certain someone may come walking out at any moment.

A certain someone she isn't sure she wants to deal with or think about or _see_.

"Why don't you show me where you parked? That way you can just follow me back to my place?" she suggests.

"All right," Drew agrees, "sounds like a plan."

Twenty-five minutes later, they're walking up the stairs to her apartment; she's helping him carry his version of the necessary basics for cooking breakfast. "I can't believe you actually bought a cooler, too."

"I didn't know if your shift would end on time, and cold stuff's got to stay cold. I'm a Boy Scout – my motto is 'be prepared'."

She laughs as she shifts and settles the brown sack on her hip, and opens the door. "Welcome to my humble abode," she says and quickly adds, "don't mind the mess. The last few days, I've worked long hours—"

"Sara—"

She goes on like she didn't hear him. "And I haven't had the time—"

"Sara," he says again, this time more firmly, and she finally stops speaking. "I don't care if your place looks like a tornado crash landed in the middle of the living room. I came to see you."

"The tornado came through _last_ week, this is just the leftover debris," she jokes, still slightly embarrassed.

(If only she remembered how her apartment looked before she invited Drew over… oh, wait, she had been too busy worrying about not running into Grissom again.)

Since this is Drew's first time seeing her place, she would have preferred a clean apartment. Without having the remains of take-out inside her refrigerator and littering her coffee table or the pile of clothes she hadn't got around to folding lying in a big, rumpled mess on the sofa in her living room.

_It's not like I wouldn't have had it perfectly nice, if I had known he was coming…_

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming anyway?" she asks, tossing her purse and keys to the small table near the entryway, then moving into the kitchen to set down the bag of groceries.

"I wanted it to be a surprise. It's been too long since we've been in the same city."

"It's a great surprise," she says, assuring him. "And with the excitement of seeing you again, then all the interruptions with people at work, I haven't had the chance to tell you how glad I am that you're here."

She gives him a quick, tight hug, taking a second to breathe in the familiar scent of his aftershave, before stepping back. "So, are you going to tell me how long you're staying? What brings you to Vegas," she grins as she adds, "besides me, of course?"

"You're definitely the best reason to come," he tells her. "As for the rest, I'll fill you in while I start making breakfast. You're hungry, right?"

"Yeah, definitely. Need any help?"

"No, sit down, take it easy. I may have to ask where to find something, but that's all the help I want from you this morning," he replies. "Next meal though, I may put you to work…"

"Next meal? Mhmm, I like the sound of that." She flashes a grin as she takes a seat at her breakfast bar.

True to his word, he fills her in while he prepares their breakfast.

"… so after a couple of months in Paris, then another four in Provence, I spent the rest of the year strolling up and down the Italian coast and along the countryside," he finishes saying as he turns the stove top off.

He fills up two glasses with fresh-squeezed orange juice and brings them over to her, then returns to the counter to arrange the food he made on the plates he had found.

"Crêpes filled with chocolate and topped with a light dusting of powdered sugar, and a side order of Smart Bacon and fresh fruit."

Her mouth's already watering when he sets her plate of breakfast in front of her.

"This looks great." She takes a bite out of her c_rêpe_ and her face lights up in pleasure. "Oh, wow. This is-this is… absolutely fantastic, Drew…" She breaks off, taking another huge bite out of her c_rêpe _before trying the rest.

He laughs, picking up his fork to begin eating as well.

"That was delicious. Best breakfast ever," she declares later with a smile, after she finishes the last piece of fruit on her plate. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She turns her head a bit, and he starts grinning, showing off his perfect white smile, the lines around his blue eyes crinkling.

"What?" she murmurs softly.

He doesn't say anything; instead, he reaches forward and softly brushes the pad of his thumb along the corner of her mouth.

She's taken aback by the unexpected, intimate contact and her breath catches ever so slightly. She jokes, trying to cover up her unexplained reaction to his touch, "You better not be getting touchy-feely with me. I've got your number."

He just grins and says, "Wouldn't dream of it," as he drops his hand, showing her the residue of powdered sugar on his thumb he had removed.

Three and a half hours later, they're in the living room, sitting on her couch – against her protests that he really shouldn't, Drew had insisted on helping her fold laundry. She had then teased him telling him she had already washed and put away her lingerie.

"So, what happened to you and… was it Maria?" she asks, her legs folded beneath her on the couch.

"Maria's long gone. Stella, Mae… Isabella, Francesca, Julia… they all came and left."

"Drew, when are you going to stop serial dating?" she asks, sighing.

"Hey, they don't get me and understand how deep these still waters run."

She rolls her eyes. "Hah. You are such a dirty little liar. You're a player."

"You wound me," he says, miming being struck in the heart by an arrow and pulling it out. "And it's really all your fault, Sara."

"Mine, you say? Why's that?" she asks, leaning forward slightly, interested to hear his reasoning.

"Because every time I ask you to run away with me, you say no."

She laughs and tosses a throw pillow at him, hitting him squarely in the face. "Well, maybe if you asked me more romantically—"

"What's not romantic about 'hey, come live with me, make my meals, answer all my demands, and be my sex goddess'?" he jokes.

"Exactly. I rest my case." She stands, stretches, and yawns. "And you wonder why all the girls break your heart…"


	3. Something to Change

A/N: Thank you to Sara who is my "Yay, there's G/S angst!" cheerleader, and who also helped make this a better chapter.

Disclaimer: See first two chapters.

* * *

_Make yourself at home. If you're still around when I get back and want to make me breakfast, I won't object. Otherwise, we'll catch up later._

— _Sara_

_P.S. I'm really glad you're here. _

She's already running late – her version of late, of course – in leaving for work, so she hastily signs the note and sticks it to her refrigerator with a magnet, knowing Drew will at least come into the kitchen once more, if only for a glass of water.

Grabbing her purse and car keys, she leaves her apartment, shutting and locking the door behind her as quietly as she can.

—xx—

She's sitting next to Catherine in the break room, when Grissom comes in to hand out the evening's assignments.

"Warrick, you and Nick are with me—" he breaks off when he sees her yawning, the lines on his forehead drawing together as his eyes narrow. "Am I boring you?"

"No," she says quickly, snapping to full attention. "I uh, didn't get much sleep. Drew kept me up—"

The guys do a poor job hiding their amusement at her choice of words and Catherine smirks.

She feels her cheeks begin to heat and finishes her sentence, "Talking," shooting her coworkers a look of annoyance.

"So he's staying at your place then?" Nick asks.

"He fell asleep on my couch. Jet lag and a crazy sleep schedule finally caught up with him. He has a room booked on The Strip…"

She realizes by the look on the faces of everyone around her – Catherine's ever-growing smirk, Nick and Warrick's look of distinct awe and Grissom's scowl – it's the most she has said about her personal life… ever.

"Not that it's anyone's business," she hurries to add, but Catherine's smirk refuses to subside, much like the growing heat of her cheeks.

—xx—

His door's opened, but she knocks anyway.

He lifts his head and the pen between his fingers falls to his desk.

"Can I come in?" she asks when he says nothing.

"Sure."

She steps inside his office, and he gestures for her to take a seat. She shakes her head no. "Thanks but I'm not planning on staying long. I just needed to ask you a question before I left…"

"Yes?" he asks, even as he drops his gaze from her to his desk, straightening up some papers before him.

"I was wondering if I could have a night off."

His head snaps up at her words, almost comically.

She shuffles her feet a bit and shoves her hands into her pockets to keep herself from fidgeting. "I want to take Friday off," she clarifies further.

Even if he's a monk, or a hermit, or whatever else the guys think of him, he still knows what Friday night means. It's code for _date night_. What happened to them being just friends? He frowns, feeling an unpleasant stirring of jealousy in the pit of his stomach rise again.

"I know I'm not giving you as much notice as you might like," she goes on, when she sees him frowning.

"No, you're not."

"It's Sunday morning though, so it's almost a week." She takes another step closer to his desk. "It's really important to me."

"I'm sure it is."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks as tension grows inside of her, and in the air.

"Whatever you want it to mean," he retorts, knowing it's childish, knowing he's acting like an ass, _and_ knowing he doesn't give a damn because he's learning that once unleashed the green-eyed monster is hard to tame.

His words cut like diamonds on glass, and she recoils, filled with fury at him for being so… so bitter.

_Stay calm_, she orders herself. _You're in _control_ of your emotions. Don't let him get to you._

He finally speaks again, when he realizes she isn't going to say anything more until he makes the next conversational move. "Friday and Saturday are always our busiest nights. You know that."

"I know," she says and nods. She's proud of herself for the way she's handling this – staying calm and cool. "But how many times have I helped out and covered other shifts without even being asked?"

"I'll… think about it."

She sees him turn his head, like he's dismissing her, and all she can think is _screw control_.

"Are you serious? It's a simple yes or no answer, not some complicated TOD timeline you need to figure out with the help of your bugs." Her hands are out of her pockets now, and she runs one carelessly through her hair in frustration. "This is just once, Grissom. One time I ask for something and you…" her voice breaks off.

He leans back in his chair, taking off his glasses, and rubs the corners of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

"It's not like I don't have plenty of vacation time," she says finally.

She's just so tired of this right here. Everything's a battle with him lately, and if she's honest with herself, she isn't sure she has any more fight left within her when it comes to him. She doesn't want to argue with him, she just wants… something to change.

He's tired, too, and he's thinking and feeling too many things that he doesn't want to think about or feel. The one thought that keeps circling his mind like buzzards circling a carcass in the desert is: why is workaholic Sara taking time off for _this_ guy? What makes him so important to her? Even when she was dating Hank, she never asked for time off.

Putting his glasses back on, he looks at her. His eyes take in her body language and he sees the weariness lining her face. "Fine," he says a few moments later, "but I expect you to be on call, just in case I-we need you."

She doesn't even blink or bother to say anything about his 'correction' from 'I' to 'we'. It doesn't matter; _really_. "Thanks," she says, and leaves without one glance back.

—xx—

"Drew?" she calls out, opening the door to her apartment and letting herself in.

No one answers. She's disappointed; she hadn't realized how much she had been looking forward to having someone to come home to – which never happened – until just now, coming home to an empty place. Again, like every single day.

She sets down her purse and keys before moving into the kitchen to get something to drink.

When she sees Drew's handwritten note pinned to her fridge, she smiles.

_Sara,_

_Sorry, got a phone call and had to leave. I'll make up breakfast by cooking you dinner tonight… sound good? _

— _Drew_

_P.S. Great magnet by the way. Very fitting._

She laughs. The magnet is one Greg had given her as a joke that said: Warning! This fridge contains hazardous waste!

Drink forgotten, she takes down the note and walks into the living room, grabbing her cell phone from her purse. She dials his number from memory, while rereading his message.

He answers on the fourth ring, sounding out of breath. "Hey, I'm here. Sorry," he says.

"Drew."

"Sara, hey." She can almost hear the smile in his voice.

"I got your message. Hope I'm not interrupting—"

"No, no. I was working but I've been hoping for a reason to take a break for the last half hour," he tells her. "What about dinner tonight? Interested?"

"Dinner sounds great. If you're sure you want to cook… otherwise, we can just go out, or we could order takeout at my place… or yours, since you called me the queen of it."

"Well it's true," he says with a hint of laughter. "Cooking's fine. I enjoy it, and I haven't had the chance to cook for a beautiful woman in a while…"

She laughs, while settling down on her couch. "Uh-huh. I don't believe that, but thanks. If you want to pick up whatever ingredients you need for dinner, I'll pay you back."

"Sara," he begins, "you don't have to—"

"Drew," she interrupts, "how many times have we had this argument before?"

"Uh, many times," he admits.

"And how often do I let you win?"

"Hardly ever."

"Exactly," she says smiling. "But if it makes you feel any better, we can go Dutch on the expenses."

"It does, a little." Changing topics, he asks, "Did you have a chance to ask your boss about Friday?"

"Yeah, I did. He said yes. I'll have to be on call though," she tells him and begins yawning into the phone. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize. Why don't you get some sleep, and call me when you wake up?"

Ten minutes later, she's in bed wearing her favorite set of pj's and the last thought she has before drifting off to sleep is of Drew's smiling face.

* * *

A/N2: On a slightly unrelated note, I wanted to take the time to say thank you for the CSI FF Award Nominations. It's a huge honor to be nominated, and also I wanted to say congratulations to all the other nominees.


	4. The Whole Team Bonding Thing

A/N: Thanks to Sara, for all the time and help she gave with this chapter.

Sorry for the delay too – I've been busy.

Disclaimer: See first two chapters.

* * *

She hears her cell phone ringing in the next room, and she rushes to answer it in time, leaving the drawer to her dresser hanging open.

Grabbing her phone, she glances quickly at the caller ID before answering.

"Catherine?" she says with a slight questioning tone in her voice, since she's wondering why her coworker is calling.

"Sara, hey. I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time?"

"No. You're not, I uh, just got out of the shower a few minutes ago," she says, looking down at the towel still wrapped around her. Her still-damp hair is cold against her bare skin, and she shivers. "Do you need something?"

Today's Monday, her day off, and she's really hoping she isn't about to be called into work.

"… nothing major," Catherine's saying. "Nick and I were talking last night about the other day, and we wanted to know if you'd be interested in going out to eat Wednesday night before shift, as a way for us to say 'we're sorry' and all?"

"Oh." She takes a seat on her couch, surprised by Catherine's words. "That's… nice."

"Does that mean you and Drew will come then?"

"Drew?"

"Of course he's invited. We would love for him to come."

"Catherine…" she begins.

"Yes?"

"This isn't going to be a dinner where all of you are grilling Drew, right?"

"No, it's just going to be a group of friends getting together and eating before work," Catherine replies. "If it makes you feel better, I'll tell the boys they have to behave."

It's not just the boys she's worried about.

"I'll… think about it, and I'll let Drew know about the dinner too."

"Oh, all right." Catherine sounds disappointed by her answer.

"Thanks for the invite," she says, before saying goodbye and hanging up the phone.

—xx—

Two hours later, she's opening the door to Drew.

"Hey," she greets him, motioning him in. "How did your morning of work go?"

"Really good, thanks," he says, as he makes himself comfortable on her sofa. "So what's on tonight's agenda? A little rock, a little roll, and a whole lotta debauchery?" he asks, giving her a devilish smile.

She rolls her eyes and grins. "Very funny. I thought I would let you decide," she says, but then she sees his eyes light up so she quickly adds, "something PG-13 and under, please."

"Spoilsport," he teases. "This is Sin City, isn't it?"

"If you want to sin, do it on your own time…" She plops down on the opposite end of the sofa, tucking one of her legs beneath her. "Speaking of plans, I was – well actually, we were both invited out—"

"Awesome, let's go," he interrupts, already moving to get up.

"Slow down, cowboy," she says, laughing, "not tonight."

He settles back down on the couch again.

"Catherine called earlier and invited us to go out to eat Wednesday night before our work night starts," she explains.

"I'm in."

"Are you sure?" she asks, still uncertain whether or not this is actually a good idea. "We don't have to…"

It's not like it will be the first time she's gone out to eat with the team, but it will be the first time she's brought someone else along.

"Yeah, definitely. Sounds like a good time," Drew says, already sounding excited. "And it will give me a chance to grill your coworkers, see what they're like… see if they're treating you all right…"

—xx—

They're running late by the time they enter Frank's.

"Hey, sorry," she says, taking an empty seat next to Nick, so that Drew can take the one beside her.

Warrick and Catherine are sitting directly in front of Drew and her, respectively. Greg had heard about the dinner plans last night, so they invited him along as well, and he has the seat across from Nick.

Grissom is no where to be seen. _Figures_, she thinks. She isn't really surprised by his absence, and she refuses to let it bother her.

"It's my fault we're late," Drew tells them, smiling apologetically. "I got sidetracked working and lost track of time, then Sara shows up at my hotel room to pick me up…"

"What do you do?" Catherine asks, while thinking she can't believe she hadn't asked Sara that already.

Before Drew can answer, the waitress – a young girl who's familiar with them coming in – stops by their table to write down their drink and food orders. Everyone already knows what they want, giving Drew a chance to quickly look over the menu to make a choice.

"The MCA in Chicago held a charity auction a few weeks ago actually, and they asked Drew to donate a piece to help raise money for ICAF," Sara tells them after the waitress leaves, like it explained everything. She gives Drew a smile; she's always been incredibly proud of his talent.

The boys smile and nod politely; each wondering silently if he's the only one still in the dark. Catherine decides to be direct and ask. "The MCA in Chicago is what exactly…?"

"The Museum of Contemporary Art," Drew supplies, while Sara can't suppress the thought that if Grissom were here, he would have known that. "And in case you were wondering, ICAF stands for the International Child Art Foundation. Basically their goal is to help foster and nurture a child's creativity."

"So you're an artist? What do you do?" Warrick asks. "Paint, sculpt? Take pictures?"

"I paint," Drew answers.

"That's cool. I was a regular Picasso too back in the early days of my childhood… or at least I was according to my mother," Greg says with a grin, making all of them laugh.

The waitress arrives back at their table to give everyone their drinks before disappearing again. The diner's in full swing at this hour.

"It's one of the reasons I'm here actually," Drew continues. "At the auction in Chicago, I met this guy who's a big-time philanthropist and he asked to see more of my work, and the next thing I knew I was being invited to _The Element of Something Beautiful_ that's happening this Friday and Saturday. It was all really fortunate to be honest."

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Sara interjects, disagreeing with him and shaking her head. "It's about talent, and you have it, Drew."

"Well all I know is that I'll be lucky if I can fit through the door on our way out with this big head you're giving me here, Sara," Drew jokes, as he reaches over to squeeze her hand that's lying on the table.

She laughs because if anything Drew has always been extremely modest when it came to his art. "They only invited five to showcase their work," she tells everyone.

"That's sweet, man," Greg says. "Congrats."

"Congratulations," Nick says and Warrick and Catherine chime in with similar sentiments.

Drew acknowledges all the words with a smile and slight bow of his head while he murmurs a soft _thank you_.

"So, Sara," Catherine begins, always curious, "is Drew's show the reason you wanted Friday off?"

She nods. "I wanted to be there for his big premiere night. Saturday, I'll attend too, except I'll be leaving early to head into work."

As they wait for their food, the team asks Drew more about his work and traveling, and he questions them about their jobs and how it is working with Sara.

"How did the two of you meet and become friends anyway?" Nick asks, after the waitress came and delivered everyone's food.

"The first time we met was at a bar," Drew starts. "I'm sitting there nursing a beer and here comes this gorgeous girl who sits down right next to me. I'm thinking _hey this is my lucky night_, and I decide to say hello."

"You did a lot more than just say hi," Sara says. "You tried to pick me up with some lame line—"

"You mean you became best friends with a guy who tried to pick you up the first time you met him?" Catherine asks, torn between incredulity and amusement.

Sara lets out a small laugh, nodding. "Yeah, I guess I did."

"In my defense about the so-called lame pick-up line," Drew interjects with a charming grin, "I was young then, still perfecting my techniques."

Nick, Warrick, and Greg exchange knowing looks of _been there, done that_.

"What happened next?" Warrick asks.

"Oh Sara put me in my place in two seconds flat," Drew says.

"Ouch," Nick says, picking up his burger to take a bite out of it.

"Yeah, but it was a good lesson. Never use that pick-up line again," Drew says with a laugh. "A month after the bar incident, I'm in my physics class and the teacher says that our new TA will be coming in to say hello and will be leading a study session later that week to help prepare us for our upcoming exam. Science was never my strong suit, so I was already stoked about a free study session, but then in walks this gorgeous very-familiar girl and all of a sudden I can't remember why I hated the subject so much."

"Talk about fate," Greg murmurs.

"It was definitely my lucky day," Drew agrees. "Thanks to that class we got to know each other better…"

"After we got over the initial awkwardness of our second 'first' meeting, things happened and we just clicked," Sara says smiling.

And later during a pause in the conversation, Warrick brings up Drew's promise. "Didn't you say you would share some stories about Sara back in her college days at Berkeley?"

She barely manages to suppress her groan; she had hoped Warrick would have forgotten. Plus what happened to the boys behaving?

Drew grins. "I did, didn't I? Well, Sara's already threatened me bodily harm if I mention certain stories—"

"I did not." She slaps him. "Remember Pinocchio..."

He laughs. "All right, kidding. And at the Crime Lab earlier, I was too. Sara really never was one to partake in any wild parties or anything," he says. "I tried to get her to come with me to several," he slings an arm around her, pulling her closer, "but our girl always had her nose buried in a textbook."

"Well," she says with a mock glare, "I just thought acing a test was more important than playing beer pong with a bunch of drunken frat guys, who had grabby hands…" She shudders. "_No_ thank you."

"I would have protected you," Drew says, dropping his arm from her shoulder.

"Uh-huh, I believe you," she replies. "As long as you weren't already busy flirting with some buxom blonde, I'm sure you would have played a great Prince Charming coming to my rescue…"

Everyone laughs.

"Just for that, Sara," he grins at her mischievously, "I'll tell them about—"

"About what?" Nick leans forward, eager to learn something new about Sara.

"Never mind, she'll kill me."

"Aw, no," Greg groans. "Come on, man up!"

Drew shakes his head no. "I'm not afraid to admit she scares me, since I'm almost certain she could kill me and dispose of my body without leaving behind any evidence…"

Sara grins. "That's right, Drew. Keep that in mind."

"So there's not one vaguely embarrassing story you're willing to share with us, Sara?" Warrick asks. "That's cold."

"What about the whole team bonding thing?" Greg pipes up.

"Yeah, what about the whole team bonding thing?" Drew echoes, eliciting a few snickers from the guys and a smile from Catherine.

"Haha, funny," Sara says. "Thinking about becoming a comedian now, Drew?"

He leans over and whispers in her ear, she shakes her head no. More quiet talk between them is exchanged until finally Sara says, "All right, fine. You win. Tell it if you must…"

"This is actually kind of an embarrassing story for me too, so no judgment, please," Drew says.

"Sure, no problem," Catherine agrees while the boys nod their heads in promise.

"You all remember how in college you're always barely scraping by usually when it comes to cash, right?" Drew begins.

"Oh, yeah. I lived off of ramen, SpaghettiOs, and pickles," Greg says.

"I lived off of those frozen burritos you heat up in a microwave," Nick adds. "For some reason they never were as good as my mom's…"

Drew grins. "Yeah. So anyway, I needed some extra money because Valentine's Day was coming up and you know—"

"Oh, we do," Warrick says, commiserating already. "The day always costs a fortune."

Catherine shoots Warrick a dark look. "And are we not worth it?"

"Well, of course, you are," he tells her.

"Thanks." She gives him a wink and a flirty smile.

"All right… back to Drew and the story," Greg breaks in between Cath and Warrick's little side flirtation.

Drew picks up again. "And Sara needed money for," he pauses trying to recall why, then says, "well knowing Sara, it was something academic-related."

She stays silent, even though he's only partially right. She had used some of the money for books, but the rest went to paying bills.

"So we're out having drinks one night at this bar we use to frequent and I notice a flyer posted on the wall about an upcoming open mic night, first place would get five hundred bucks."

Nick whistles. _That was a nice chunk of change for any college kid_, he thinks.

"Exactly." Drew nods. "After buying Sara a couple of shots, I finally get her to agree."

"Yeah, yeah,_ exactly_. See he had to buy me drinks to get me to agree," she points out.

Hearing Drew retelling the story brings back a lot of other great memories she's had with him over the years, and she smiles, feeling happy and relaxed. She's very much enjoying herself.

"Why didn't you want to anyway, Sara?" Warrick asks. "We've all heard you sing around the Lab. You've got a great voice."

She smiles her thanks. "Well…"

"Did I mention it was theme night?" Drew adds.

"Oh, man," Nick says.

Greg laughs, leaning back in his chair. "This _is _perfect."

Catherine's smiling like the cat that ate the canary as she asks, "What was the theme?"

"Since it was so close to Valentine's Day, it was something cheesy like great love songs or great duets and couples—"

"The suspense is killing me," Greg says just as Warrick asks, "What did you two sing?"

"Before Drew tells you," Sara says, "remember the cash prize that we really wanted to win, okay?" She's also actually, surprisingly, kind of having fun with this and getting into the spirit of storytelling. "We decided to go all in for it. Might as well, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, get to the good stuff." Greg's mind is racing with endless possibilities of songs they could have chosen.

"We sang—"

Sara interrupts Drew, while everyone groans. "Everyone promises to keep this information strictly among yourselves?"

They quickly agree.

"We sang 'I Got You Babe' by Sonny and Cher," Drew says with a sheepish grin.

"And that's not all – sadly," Sara adds, beginning to laugh at the memory. "We also dressed up like the famous duo. I had on a long black wig, we wore some ridiculous sixties designer threads…"

"Are you serious?" Catherine asks, unsure if Drew and Sara had suddenly conspired together to pull a fast one over on her and everyone else.

"I'm afraid so," Drew admits, joining in with the others as they all begin to laugh.

It takes everyone a while to calm down and to stop laughing, because they can't quit picturing Sara dressed up as Cher or singing _that_ song.

"So, Cher," Nick jokes, looking at Sara, "got any pictures from that night?"

The look of horror on Sara's face is priceless. "God, I hope none are floating around still…"

"You got to tell us, did you win?" Warrick asks.

Sara and Drew look at each other and grin, then turn to face everyone else, speaking as one, "Of course."

—xx—

It's Thursday morning, and Catherine is about to head home when she stops by Grissom's office. The door's open and she strolls in.

"You should have come to dinner last night," she says without preamble.

He glances up, gives her a tired look.

"You missed a good time."

"I had work to do, Catherine," he says, "I _still_ do," giving her a pointed look this time.

She makes an unintelligible sound, and ignoring his not-so-subtle brush off, she takes a seat on the edge of his desk.

"Make yourself at home," he replies dryly.

"Thanks, don't mind if I do." She smirks.

"Uh-huh." He moves the paperwork he'd been working on to the side, knowing he won't be able to do anything else until Catherine spoke her mind. "So?" He lifts his hand in gesture for her to say something.

"So… do you know why Sara wanted this Friday off?" She sees the blank expression on his face, but he's not quick enough to hide the tiny flicker of interest in his eyes.

She smiles, because she loves knowing information indispensable to others, and she loves imparting that information as and when she sees fit.

"He's an artist, and he's been invited to…"

She goes on to fill him in on all the details she learned last night about Drew. While listening to Catherine talk about how wonderful and charming and talented _and _handsome Drew is, Grissom struggles to keep his face impassive.

"… so Sara wanted to be there for his big premiere night in Vegas."

* * *

Notes: The International Children's Art Foundation is an actual charity. The Museum of Contemporary Art is a museum in Chicago.

A/N2: Constructive criticism and feedback are always appreciated. I hope you enjoyed learning more about Drew's history with Sara.


	5. The Art of Communication

A/N: A thousand thank you's to my lovely beta, Sara.

Disclaimer: See first two chapters.

* * *

"Sara."

His quiet voice shatters her concentration, startling her, and she turns her head quickly to see him standing just outside the Crime Lab's locker room. After shutting the door to her locker, she starts toward him.

"You did a good job tonight."

She freezes, stopping in her tracks, startled again – this time by his words. She never quite knows how to react when he gives her an unexpected compliment. His words bring her pleasure, yet internally she wages a battle not to soak up all the feel-good warmth his praise offers because these moments from him seem to be so far and in between.

"Thank you," she murmurs finally.

"You're welcome."

He steps aside, so she can exit.

A few seconds pass and nothing more is said. They stand in the hallway, inches away from each other; silent.

"I guess I'll be going," she says after another moment, turning to leave.

"Sara?"

"Mhm, yeah?" she answers, glancing back.

"I hope you have a nice time tonight."

She studies his face for a second and then nods. With a smile, she walks away.

—xx—

Drew had insisted that he come pick her up when he called earlier.

"_I'll come by around a quarter till seven. It doesn't start until eight but I need to be there early, I hope you don't mind—"_

"_Of course, I don't, but Drew wouldn't it make more sense for me to meet you at your hotel?" _

"_Technically, yes. But having to come by your place is perfect, because otherwise I would just be pacing back and forth in my room, working on giving myself an anxiety attack or something," he admits. "Besides what kind of guy would I be if I didn't come to pick up my date for the evening?"_

"_So now I'm your date, huh?" she teases, hoping to calm his nerves._

"_Yeah, well, you know. Every successful artist needs a pretty girl on his arm."_

When he first mentioned the show and asked her to attend, she knew without looking in her closet that she wouldn't have anything nearly fancy enough to wear. And although Drew wouldn't care what she wore, she cared because this was his big show and she didn't want to make a 'bad impression'. So Tuesday afternoon before work she had gone shopping, hoping to find something she could afford and that would be suitable for a black tie affair.

The dress she ended up buying had looked – on the hanger, at least – simple yet elegant which was why she had allowed the saleslady to talk her into trying it on. She had already vetoed half a dozen other suggestions. Too much material, too low-cut, too bedazzled.

Still she tried on the dress, with only a bit of cajoling, and she almost didn't recognize herself. The narrow pleats along the bodice of the gown accentuated and hugged her curves like no other dress she had ever owned. The color of the dress, a rich indulgent red.

Two brisk knocks on her door pull her mind to the present again, and she gives herself one last glance in the mirror before opening the door to Drew.

"Sara, hey."

She steps back so that he can enter, and after closing the door behind him, his eyes finally take in what she's wearing. He feels a little bit speechless – something he's not familiar with – and his mouth is suddenly dry. "Wow," he finally manages.

Her lips twitch as she holds back a laugh, amused at his reaction. She does a slow little fancy twirl, just for the fun of it. "You can close your mouth now," she instructs, her smile a full-fledge grin as she breaks out into laughter.

"Sorry." He shoots her a boyish grin. "You look… beautiful. Amazing. Not that you usually don't look beautiful and amazing," he hurries to add and she laughs even harder. "All right, I'm going to shut up now before I insert my foot any further…"

"That would probably be wise," she says with one last chuckle. "Let me grab my clutch and cell phone and I'll be ready to leave."

Returning to the living room a few moments later, she sees he has started to frown.

"Wait, what's wrong?"

"I just realized no one's going to believe that I managed to snag you as my date."

"Yeah, yeah. You've always been such a smooth talker," she says, waving off his words of flattery. "It's not like you're looking shabby either. You're filling out that tux quite nicely there, Drew. Looks like someone's been spending some quality time at the gym lately," she teases him. "Except—"

"Except what?"

"Your tie needs some work."

She steps closer to him, so close that he can smell the perfume she's wearing; a delicate blend of vanilla, soft florals, and ripe berries. He drops his gaze, watching her and the quick, fluid way her hands move as she fixes and straightens his tie for him.

"Thanks. I can never seem to master that skill," he says when she steps back again.

His head is swimming, whether from the scent of her perfume or her close proximity moments before, he's not sure. Looking to regain some control, he reaches into his jacket pocket, drawing out a velvet box and extending his hand.

"Drew?" she questions, ignoring his hand completely, as she backs up several more steps. "What did you do?" .

Instead of answering, he walks forward and places the box in the palm of her hand.

She slowly opens it and what she sees makes her gasp and sigh all at once. "It's beautiful," she says of the necklace with the princess-cut diamond hanging from it, "but it's too much. I couldn't possibly accept—"

"It's not too much," he says quickly, firmly. Before she can protest further, he goes on, "I want you to have it. You've always believed in me and encouraged me to not give up my dream." He pauses, trying to find the words to let her know how much he appreciates her. "It's really meant a lot, and now you're going to my first major show. When my parents—"

At the mention of his parents, she breaks in at once. "It's their loss. And of course I believed in you, Drew. Why wouldn't I?" She sighs and sneaks a peek at the necklace again. She would have to accept. "Thank you. The necklace is lovely. I love it," she says with a grin. "And I would give you a kiss right now but I wouldn't want my lipstick rubbing off on you."

"Maybe later," he says and she laughs, shaking her head.

He's still smiling as he watches her walk to the mirror, carefully removing the necklace she had on and exchanging it for the one he had just given her. Her hair's twisted and pinned up with a few loose strands that softly frame her face.

Five minutes later, they're standing outside her apartment and it's her turn to be shocked again.

"A limo?"

He grins and nods. "I thought it would be fun; there's even champagne chilling in the back."

—xx—

She stands on the balcony of the building's highest floor and takes a deep breath, inhaling the crisp night air. It is midnight, the bewitching hour, and the show's still in full swing.

The balcony though is thankfully empty. She had come outside hoping to find a quiet moment alone. Within a few short hours, she'd already mixed, mingled, and schmoozed with most of Vegas' upper-echelon, not to mention the art critics and rich patrons from elsewhere in the country.

She's been on her feet the entire time too, and her feet ache worse because of the heels she's wearing. She hadn't wanted to – she can easily list a number of reasons why wearing stilettos is bad for women – but the dress would have been too long otherwise and she hadn't had time to get it altered. Saturday's a slightly less formal affair and for that she is grateful.

The show tonight, so far, has gone really well – not that she ever had any doubt.

Each artist had been given their own floor to showcase their work. Drew hadn't allowed her to see any of his paintings he would be using for the show, saying he wanted her to be surprised and enjoy the full effect when everything was completely set up and done. All this week, he had been working closely with the floor designer giving his input on how he envisioned his pieces being displayed.

When everyone first started arriving for the exhibit, she had felt out of her element, but Drew made her feel at ease. She smiles as she thinks about how she was supposed to be here for him and be the one supporting and calming him, not the other way around. Drew had always been a natural when it came to large parties like this though – he grew up in this setting.

Throughout the night he would get pulled to the side or away from her by different people, so she quickly learned to start mingling and mixing with the guests herself. Still he always managed to not stay away too long, coming back and joining her wherever she was.

It was really nice too, except everyone then kept assuming they were _together_. They explained that they were just friends, and had been friends since college, but she could tell some didn't buy the story. At some point during the night, she finally stopped correcting people.

The sound of a door sliding open, then closing, jars her from her thoughts and she turns her head to see who's joining her.

Her lips curve upward in a smile when she sees Drew.

"Hey. I was wondering where you went," he says, coming to stand next to her and leaning against the balcony's railing.

"Sorry, I just needed a bit of space and fresh air," she answers. "Shouldn't you be in there, and not out here with me?"

"I'm sure it will take more than a few minutes for them to start missing me," he tells her with a quick grin.

She laughs. "I wouldn't be so sure about that…"

"Are you having a good time?" he asks after a moment. "I know these things aren't exactly your idea of fun."

"Drew," she lays a hand on his arm, "I'm enjoying myself, and so is everyone else at this party. They all love your work."

"Thanks. It's going pretty good, isn't it?"

"Better than good," she says. "You're the next big thing, according to all the conversations I've accidentally eavesdropped on."

His light laughter fills the night air, and they stand side-by-side, looking out across the city night.

"Las Vegas is something else," he says after awhile, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

"It's beautiful."

"Yes, it is," he agrees, except she doesn't notice that he's not looking out at the Vegas skyline anymore but at her. "You like it here then?"

"Yeah, I do." She nods, thinking of the bright lights, flashy signs, and fast-paced lifestyle of the city that never sleeps, all which easily seduce and mesmerize the minds (and wallets) of thousands each year. For her though, it's not something, but someone, that's keeping her in Vegas. "It's… become home. I can't imagine living anywhere else."

—xx—

It's five o'clock Saturday evening, and she's walking back from the ladies' room when she hears familiar voices.

She glances up and sees Warrick and Nick walking toward her. Greg trails behind them, holding a plate filled with hors d'oeuvres.

"Hey, what are the three of you doing here?" she asks when they stop in front of her.

"We wanted to come by and show our support," Nick says.

"You're our friend, Drew's a cool guy… it wasn't a hard decision," Warrick adds.

"That's really nice. Thanks." She's touched by their thoughtfulness, especially since they had all worked the night before and would work again tonight.

"No problem," Greg says, over a mouthful of food. "The food's fantastic, and so is your dress. You look hot."

"Greg, chew first. Speak second," Nick says with a sigh, before complimenting her as well.

Today she's wearing a simple black cocktail dress with a bare minimum of makeup, since soon enough she'll have to change into work appropriate clothes and leave for the Crime Lab.

"Thank you," she says then changes the subject, shifting the attention away from her, and gestures to the walls covered with Drew's artwork. "Feel free to just walk around; Drew is around here… somewhere. I know he'll appreciate you all coming by."

"We will, definitely. Catherine and Grissom are around here somewhere too…"

_Grissom, here? He came too?_ She's pleasantly surprised and kind of nervous all at once. "Oh, really?" she says because she can't think of anything else.

"Yeah." Warrick nods, and then says, "Wait, they're heading toward us now."

She turns to look and sure enough Catherine and Grissom _and_ Drew are coming their way.

"Love the dress," Catherine comments in way of greeting while Drew thanks the boys for coming.

She tells Catherine a quick thank you and before she can say anything to Grissom, or he to her, she's being tapped on the shoulder by Rebecca – the girlfriend of another artist at the show, she met and became friendly with the night before – stopping by to say hello to her.

By the time she finishes talking with Rebecca, Grissom along with Catherine and Warrick had moved on. Nick and Greg are still talking with Drew and she joins in the conversation.

—xx—

Catherine waits and bides her time, watching for the moment when Drew is by himself. When she finally sees her opportunity, she has to keep herself from all but running over to him.

"So Drew, have you been enjoying your stay in Vegas?"

"Yeah, yeah I have. It's been great catching up with Sara," he says smiling. "And of course it's been fun meeting everyone she works with—"

"It's been fun for us too. Believe me. Hearing stories about Sara that she rather not be told…" She trails off and he laughs.

"What's next for you?" she asks a few minutes later.

"Um, I'm not sure… just yet," he admits, as his eyes search the crowd. He sees Sara standing next to Nick and Warrick, and she's laughing. He smiles and turns his attention back to Catherine, who is keen to notice how his eyes focused in on Sara. "I mean with what I do… I can work anywhere. And lately, I've been thinking it would be nice to have a home base, settle down..."

—xx—

She's standing off to the side by herself – Nick and Warrick had just moved on to check out some more of the artwork. When she hears someone come up behind her, she has a smile ready on her face as she turns around.

"Grissom." Her smile changes slightly, less forced and more real.

"Sara." He returns her smile easily.

"I'm sorry about earlier," she says, and when he looks confused to what she's referring to, she adds, "not getting to say hi before, when Rebecca – the young, brunette girl – came up to me when you first arrived."

"Oh." He waves his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it."

She nods, as she shifts her body just a bit closer to him. She tells herself it's because the volume in the room seems to have suddenly increased. "Anyway, thanks for coming. I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad I came."

"You're enjoying the show then? Have you had a chance to look at some of everyone's work?"

"I've gone through the other floors, and yes, I am. I'm enjoying myself," he says, turning his head to look out into the crowded room filled with people and Drew's art.

"That's good."

A few beats of silence pass between them until he turns his attention back her way. "You look lovely."

"Thank you." She says it almost automatically now, but this time inside, she's feeling butterflies. Out of all the compliments she's received the last two days, it's this one – the one from him – that makes her feel the quiet flush of feminine pleasure. And before she can return the compliment or say anything else, Grissom changes the subject completely.

"Drew's really talented."

"Yeah, he is." She begins smiling. "This show… it's gone so well; I'm just really happy for him."

"You care for him." He says it quietly and in a way that she knows he's not expecting an answer, it's more a statement of fact.

"Grissom." She stops, pauses.

He's facing her, she's facing him. They're mere inches from each other, echoing almost exactly their same stance in the Crime Lab's hallway Friday morning.

The noisy crowd surrounding them seems like a faint memory, and it's just the two of them.

They are two people standing before each other who do not know how to communicate. He can't say what he really wants to; she's uncertain and almost afraid to want him, trying instead to ignore the way he makes her feel.

"Grissom, I—"

"Sara, I—"

She tries, he tries, and they both fail.

They stand not speaking, until Greg comes to join them, breaking the awkward silence. "Hey, I've been looking for you two."

And if they both quietly exhale a breath of relief at the interruption, they won't admit it; not even to themselves.

* * *

A/N2: Remember this isn't a Sara/OC story; it's a Sara/Grissom story… so please no getting together and plotting my demise. (At least not until Sara rides off into the sunset with Drew.) Thanks. Oh, and constructive feedback? It's always welcomed.


	6. The Beautiful Letdown

A/N: Dear WOK readers, I hope I did not give anyone a heart attack with the surprise of this (ahem, long overdue) update. Sincerely, K.

Disclaimer: See first two chapters.

* * *

"Hey," she says softly, standing outside of his opened office door. It's early Sunday morning, and she's just finished helping Nick wrap up his murder case from Friday night.

Grissom glances up and motions her in.

"I just wanted to say thanks again for coming yesterday." She clasps her hands tightly in front of her, hoping to stem her nervous energy. "I heard that you were interested in one of Drew's pieces..."

He remains silent but for a small _mhmm_ sound.

"The charcoal drawing of me," she adds, though she doesn't believe he needed further explanation.

He nods his head slightly, before looking down at something on his desk.

"Why?"

He looks at her, and in typical Grissom-fashion, he answers her question by asking one of his own. "Do you pose for him often?" He's more curious than he cares to admit, and he tries not to show it.

She knows full well he's trying to distract her, and maybe it's because of that, she says what she does next. "Yeah, you should see the nudes he's done. There's going to be another showcase later of just them. You should really go."

His face turns a curious shade, like he's torn between embarrassment and shock, and she's unable to stifle the laughter that bubbles up. He realizes she's teasing him and smiles apologetically.

Still she's not going to let him off the hook so easily. "You never answered my question."

"Oh?"

One thing she can say about Grissom with one hundred percent certainty is, when he chose to, the man had the art of playing obtuse down to a science. (Damn him.) She fights to keep from rolling her eyes at him, or letting out a small shriek of frustration, because he knows he didn't.

"Why," she asks again, "why that one?"

She'd been stunned to see the drawing of her at the showing. Contrary to her teasing comments moments earlier, she had never posed for Drew before. The drawing had been done by memory.

Friday when she had asked Drew about purchasing it (she wasn't sure how she felt about a stranger staring at her), he told her it was one of two paintings at the exhibit he had absolutely no intention of selling. Then Saturday, she saw Grissom talking with Jenna, one of the ladies in charge of handling the buying and selling of the artwork. After Grissom had left, she asked Jenna, as casually as she could, about her conversation with him. She had been stunned again to learn he had asked about the charcoal drawing of her.

She knows she should just let it go; she should never have come in here and asked him about the drawing. _Just drop it_, she thinks. It would probably be wise and better all around, but when had she been wise when it came to him?

Besides she can't help but feel that his answer is important. She's almost given up on his reply when he speaks.

"I liked it," he says finally.

"You liked it?"

He nods. "Yes."

"Oh." Such a simple explanation really. Of course he liked it otherwise he wouldn't have wanted to buy it. Still out of all Drew's brilliant artwork, that's the one he wants?

She doesn't know what else to say though and begins to leave.

His voice, or more accurately, his words cause her to falter mid-step.

"Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, then beauty is its own excuse for being."

She turns back around, her eyes quietly searching his face for some kind of… sign, something.

"Emerson, 'The Rhodora,'" he says in way of explanation. "I thought the drawing was beautiful, and I wanted it."

Her face displays her confused emotions beautifully, while a feeling of warmth settles within her stomach. "Oh," she says again, lamely. It's the second time he's spoken of beauty and her, and she doesn't know what to think.

She tries to find something more elegant or intelligible to say back to him, and all she can come up with is saying, "Thank you," before walking out of his office and disappearing into the early morning light.

—xx—

Monday evening, she enters the break room and all conversation stops.

"Hey, guys," she begins, feeling uneasy, not sure why they're suddenly looking at her like _that_ – with big silly grins on their faces. "What's up?"

"Did you see yesterday's paper?" Catherine asks.

"No, why?" she questions, sitting down in an empty chair.

Nick flips the newspaper lying in front of him around and pushes it toward her. "Great dress. All I got to say is wow."

She notices the bold font of the headline first, and the smile that comes to her face is as natural as it is genuine.

_Andrew Howard, the break out star of the two-night Something Beautiful exhibit, proves his is the name to remember. _

Then she notices the picture taking up more than half of the top fold of the _Arts & Entertainment_ section of the newspaper. It shows Drew and her Friday night. He's leaning over, like he's whispering a secret in her ear; her body's turned slightly in toward him and she's got a hand on his arm and she's laughing.

_Oh, God_, she thinks as she reads the photo's caption: _Who's the mystery lady? Is this hot eligible bachelor single no more? Oh, and that sound you hear? It's hearts breaking everywhere, young and old alike. _

She quickly scans the rest of the article, wanting to simultaneously groan out loud as well as go yell at the one crowd-goer who commented that she and Drew looked and acted very much like a couple throughout the night.

The journalist also went on to mention that Drew is the only son of Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Howard, as in the Howard family who's listed among Forbes wealthiest and most influential families. She says nothing when the guys comment that they hadn't realized they'd been making friends with the next Donald Trump; she already knows the mention of his family (and how much influence their money can buy) will upset Drew.

"You know you're kind of a celebrity now," Nick teases good-naturedly.

"Maybe we should hang the paper up in the Lab… have you autograph it," Warrick suggests with a grin.

"No, no. Let's not." She shakes her head. "It's just… a picture in the newspaper. Nothing more. Most people aren't even going to see it," she says, willing the guys to drop it, and hoping to God she's right.

She lifts her gaze from the page before her just in time to see Grissom walk in. When he sees the newspaper in front of her, his eyes darken and she looks away. _Great, just when I think things are improving between us, something happens and knocks us back three steps. _

"So, tonight," Grissom begins without any formalities, "Catherine and Sara you two have a…"

—xx—

They're in the Denali; she's driving, heading back to the Crime Lab with evidence from their convenience store robbery and shoot-out to process, when Catherine brings up the newspaper article.

To be honest, she's surprised Catherine had been able to wait this long to say something.

"You know that picture in the paper looked—"

"Cath," she interrupts, "I don't have time for this."

Catherine ignores the time comment, since it's not true. The Lab's still a good fifteen minutes away, and they're both stuck in a moving vehicle together, and despite how much Sara may want to at the moment, she can't exactly toss Catherine out. Sara concedes Catherine has the advantage. She'd forgotten how sneaky her colleague could be.

"You know you're not getting any younger…"

She refuses to dignify that with a response (_besides_, she thinks to herself, _look who's talking_), and instead says, "I know where you're going and you're wrong. Drew and I are only friends."

"What if you're wrong?"

She steals a glance at Catherine, trying to read her face and finds that she can't. When Catherine says no more, curiosity finally gets the best of her.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I've seen the way he looks at you, Sara."

"No, you're misinterpreting things. It's just not like that. Drew and I, we've known each other a long time, and I've never felt any I-like-you-and-want-to-date-you vibes from him."

Catherine laughs, and Sara frowns.

"What did I say that was so funny?" she questions, tapping her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as she waits for the traffic light to turn green. This whole conversation is really beginning to get to her.

"Because you are so oblivious sometimes," Catherine answers, still feeling amused. "There are at least four different guys at the Crime Lab who would happily kill to take you out. Greg has a huge crush on you, and would take you out on a date in a heartbeat if you gave him the time of day…"

"You're exaggerating, and Greg, he's just a flirt. Drew's the same way. He's just one of those guys that can't help but flirt with the opposite sex. I'm used to it."

"If you say so," Catherine says, though her voice clearly indicates she doesn't believe a word Sara's saying.

For the remaining time, they shift topics back to work and the case, and for that, Sara is thankful.

But as they're walking into the Crime Lab, Catherine lays a hand on Sara's arm, stopping her. "I just want to say one more thing, and then I'll drop it."

She lets out a frustrated sigh, but reluctantly nods.

"Drew's a really great guy; he's talented and we all like him. I think the two of you would make a great couple," and before Sara can offer up any protests, she adds, "a lot of great relationships start out as friendship."

And with those last words, Catherine walks away, leaving Sara staring blankly after her.

* * *

A/N2: Happy love and cupid's arrow holiday to all of you. Constructive criticism is appreciated and most welcomed.

(A longer a/n can be found on my profile page, in regards to story statuses etc, if anyone's interested.)


	7. The Great Debate Within

Disclaimer: See first two chapters.

* * *

Catherine doesn't know what she's talking about is all Sara can think on her way home from work Tuesday morning. Catherine should mind her own business. _But when_, she thinks, _has the woman ever been known to do that?_

Sure, she'll admit that she thinks Drew is good looking. What's the harm of that, and what girl wouldn't? And yes, she's teased him because of his boyish face and sinful smile that drives all the women (young and old) crazy.

Has he flirted with her occasionally? Yes. Some guys just ooze charm and have a sexy swagger that seems to be innate within. And yeah perhaps she flirts back. What? Sue her. She can have a little innocent fun if she wants. Because that's all it is: innocent.

She's never thought of him in _that _way, not like Catherine's talking about.

She hasn't. He's practically like a brother to her, they're that close.

And he hasn't thought of her in that way either. She would have noticed if he had, right? He's complimented her before and called her beautiful more than once… but that didn't mean anything.

It just couldn't.

She's not completely oblivious like Catherine had said either. She knew Greg and David, and okay sure there might be a few other guys, that sort of kind of had a thing for her. (_And God, why does it feel like she just reverted back to high school by saying that?_) She thought it was sweet, and because she genuinely liked them in a friends-only kind of way, she pretended she never picked up on any other kind of vibes from them.

By the time she pulls into her driveway, she's convinced herself that Catherine's just having fun and messing with her head. That's all there is to it.

—xx—

Three point five hours later (and yes she's fully aware that she should be fast asleep right now), she's wide awake and thinking about Drew.

He's always been such a good friend to her, and she never made friends easily.

Partly because she'd been shipped off from one foster home to the next, and had to change schools more often than a military brat did. And partly, because she consciously held herself back. What was the point of getting attached when she never believed she would be sticking around long enough anyway?

She had plenty of acquaintances, but they were a dime a dozen. But friends – good friends she _knew_ she could rely on no matter the circumstance? She didn't have that until Drew came along. Somehow he managed to creep past and climb over all the defenses she'd built up over the years, and had gotten her to trust him. Not an easy feat, by any means.

Still she didn't tell him about what happened when she was twelve. He knew a little bit (that she'd been in foster care), and if he had suspected there was more to the story, he didn't pry. He was much too great of a guy to do that.

After it happened, there had been psychologists and one well-meaning science teacher who had tried to get her to talk. She had simply refused. So after two sessions max with each psychologist where she did nothing but stare down at her shoes and push the cuticles of her nails back, they gave up. They marked her off as a lost cause, or just didn't give a damn enough to make any further attempts.

Drew became the first (and only) person that she opened up to about her parents and her childhood. She hadn't meant to though. She'd been drunk one night (why she can't even remember now), and she just blurted it all out. The next morning, suffering from the hangover that could only come from the fiery depths of hell, she'd snuck out of his room without saying goodbye; she'd been so sure that he wouldn't want anything else to do with her, or if he did, he would start acting differently around her. She didn't think she could handle that any better.

He came by her place later that very day, and when she opened the door, he told her that she looked like hell but he loved her anyway. Then he brought his hands out from behind his back and showed her he had brought his top-secret hangover cure-all kit.

She'd laughed, almost crying, because in his wonderful Drew kind of way he had just erased all her worries. She invited him in, and they stepped right back into sync with each other. He never treated her any differently, never judged her; never made her feel ashamed or embarrassed.

Her finally letting him in, led him to opening up to her as well.

He told her more about his family and their judgment and pressure on him. How they wanted him to go into the family business, and didn't support or accept his desire to pursue art as a career, and how much that hurt him. And although it wasn't widely known in public circles (appearances, after all, were of the utmost importance), how his parents had disinherited him after he didn't step into line and follow the destined path they'd selected for him before he was even born.

So that one night turned into something great, it made their friendship stronger. He had become her support system, something she never really had, and she became his.

—xx—

It's been over a day since the car ride with Catherine, and still she can't stop replaying the conversation in her mind.

_I've seen the way he looks at you, Sara._

She begins to think maybe she should want Drew. She should want to date him and be in a relationship with him. Who wouldn't want that?

He's a great guy, gorgeous, generous to a fault, easy going, wonderful, talented… and so much more.

He's perfect in every single possible way.

(Except he isn't Grissom.)

(_But_, she thinks – her mind easily slipping into the role of devil's advocate – _maybe that's not such a bad_ _thing._)

—xx—

Day two of driving herself crazy over what Catherine had said, and she's lying awake in bed Thursday morning, staring up at the ceiling. Glancing at her bedside clock, she sees nearly four hours have passed since she first lay down, and despite all her best efforts (including the utterly useless counting sheep method), she hasn't fallen asleep yet.

She lets out a tired groan. She needs some _freaking_ rest.

But instead of sleeping, her mind's too busy thinking about him _and _him. Drew and Grissom. Grissom and Drew.

She sighs and turns on her side, punching her pillow in frustration. She wills herself to close her eyes again and think of something peaceful, but all she can do is curse Catherine. For the umpteenth time, she wishes that Catherine had kept her mouth shut and never planted the seed, the possibility of Drew liking her, in her mind.

Drew, he's been there for her. They're close. They've known each other for many years, so it's only natural they have a strong bond. And she does love him, but she's never thought it was anything more than the love one feels for a friend. Those feelings though, could they grow into something more, if she let them?

Grissom, he's… there. For her? Well, it depends on the day of the week. They are… she's not sure what. She's not sure she can put a label on what they are, and are they even anything at all to put a label on anyway?

She and Grissom work together, so yes, there's a closeness of moments they share when it all becomes too much: the death and the hatred and the senseless killings. They don't have to say anything to each other then; just one look conveys an understanding greater than any words found in Webster's dictionary.

They haven't known each other as long as she and Drew have, but still there's an undeniable connection between her and Grissom. Or at least she feels it, acknowledges it. He doesn't acknowledge it most of the time. But there are moments, when she _knows_ she's not the only one. That whatever it is between them, it's not one-sided.

Then there's Drew again, and he's been her best friend. She's comfortable around him, and she can act and be herself without any worry. She_ trusts _him, and that right there, that's a big thing for her.

She doesn't feel tongue-tied, or unsure of herself, or even sometimes inadequate, like she does with Grissom.

Drew's a safe bet, and though she may live in Vegas, she's never considered herself to be much of a gambler. She knows Drew. She's got a past with him, so what she needs to decide now is if she wants a future with him.

Grissom, he's, well, he's definitely not a safe bet. She's afraid to want a future with him. She isn't sure of him, of the possibility of _them_. Would it work, would it last? She doesn't have much of a past with him, and what past she does isn't exactly made up of smooth sailing. Would their boat reach the middle of the ocean, or would it sink before it even left the dock?

Does she pick someone she knows she can have a future with and be happy, or does she risk it for someone she thinks might possibly be the one?

They say anything in life worth having requires taking risks. But they never say anything about the heartache that comes along if it doesn't work out.

* * *

A/N: This chapter's very me – when I try to sleep, my mind refuses to quiet down. And while I enjoy delving into Drew and Sara's past, this is a completely dialogue-free chapter… did it work for you (without becoming 'boring' in lack of action)? Constructive criticism is much appreciated.


	8. Risk Taking is a Scary Business

A/N: Apologies for the delay, I've been sick.

There are two distinct scene locales intertwined within the chapter; they take place during a close window of time but not simultaneously.

Disclaimer: See first two chapters.

* * *

"I can't believe you're leaving tomorrow."

In the still early morning hours of Friday, Drew had stopped by the Crime Lab to tell her of his impending departure, as well as to say goodbye to and thank her team for their hospitality. He'd been offered another showing, this time in New York City.

The hug she gave him was an automatic reaction. But while still in his arms, for the first time ever, she thought about how it felt to be held by him. It was nice, really nice actually, and the sudden realization of that threw her off balance.

Then later after learning that Drew was leaving the next day, Nick offered to switch shifts with her so she could spend time with her friend and help him celebrate. Which is why instead of snapping pictures of grisly crime scenes, she's currently drinking a beer and staring at a face that would have made Botticelli weep.

She's thrilled for him and so proud of his success, but she wishes, completely selfishly, it didn't mean he had to leave. At least not just yet, not with her feelings for him such a jumbled mess.

"I know." As excited as he is about the New York opportunity, he doesn't want to leave just yet either. "I can come back, you know." _Next month, after the show finishes up_, he thinks, but doesn't say aloud since he's not sure if that sounds too… something. "I don't want so much time to pass before seeing you again next time. I've missed you."

"I missed you too. It's been great having you around these couple of weeks," she tells him. She's had a few beers in her, and thanks to a rather empty stomach, she's feeling it more than she should. "Maybe you should consider moving closer to me, to here," the words, although sincere, slip out before she registers the implication of what she's saying, "Vegas."

"I'm not sure if Vegas is the most nurturing place for an artist," he pauses a beat, "but I would move here for you, if you wanted me to." She finds it wholly disconcerting to see Drew, someone she's always considered coolly charismatic and oh, so confident, to look as vulnerable as he does in this moment.

"Catherine," she murmurs.

She doesn't even realize she said the name out loud until Drew gives her a quizzical look.

"What does Catherine have to do with anything?"

"Oh." She struggles to come up with an adequate explanation. "I uh, nothing. It's silly actually. See Catherine said, she said that uh…"

"What did she say?"

"It was that article in the paper. She saw it, and while we were working on a case, she brought it up. She told me she'd seen the way you looked at me," she blurted out in a rush. "That it was more than a 'we're friends' kind of way. I didn't-don't believe her… we're friends only, right? It's stupid really, I shouldn't have said anything."

She feels a nervous bubble of laughter wanting to escape. When would she learn to start censoring herself? What if things started to get awkward between her and Drew? She can't stand the thought of that.

Drew is silent for so long, she starts to worry.

"Sara, I don't think the idea sounds stupid. In fact—"

—xx—

He walks into the break room, cases ready to be given out, and sees Catherine, Warrick, and Nick deep in discussion.

"Where's Sara?" he asks. He's so focused on a certain missing brunette that it doesn't even enter his mind that Nick's not supposed to be there.

Nick looks up, just as Warrick says one last comment to Catherine, causing her to laugh. "Oh, I switched shifts with her. She's out with Drew."

At the mention of Drew's name, his face darkens.

"Grissom," Catherine begins, "Drew's—"

"We've got work to do," Grissom interjects sharply. He assigns Warrick the case with him, because Nick's not high on his favorites list right now, and Catherine, she doesn't know when to let things alone. "All right, that's it. Let's go."

Grissom walks out, and Catherine sends a pleading look to Warrick who nods in understanding, and she hurries to catch up.

"Look, I was trying to tell you that Drew's—"

"Catherine, leave it alone. I don't care." He silences her with a look that says she's skating on thin ice and don't push her luck.

"Fine, whatever," she retorts, annoyed at his continued obstinacy. With one last glare, she spins on her heels and heads back to the break room to meet up with Nick.

He watches her retreating figure, and wonders if the night can get any worse.

—xx—

"—I think Catherine's a very perceptive woman."

"You don't? She is?" she asks, almost incredulously.

He takes a deep breath, as if needing to fortify himself in some way for what he's about to reveal.

"I've had feelings for you for a while now. I don't know when exactly it happened, it might have been the first time I met you actually… and it just took me a little while to realize it."

She had picked up her beer, hoping to combat her suddenly dry mouth, but his words distract her. She sets it back on the table without taking a sip. She can't believe how quickly a night of celebration had turned into this very conversation.

"Your friendship, it's the one thing I value the most in the world, and the thought of losing you as a friend, it's what kept holding me back. Maybe it's even part of the reason I went abroad, to see if when I came back I would still feel the same…"

"And do you?" she asks, unaware of the breath she's holding, waiting his reply.

"It feels like no time has passed. It's you, Sara. You are the best part of my life. I am never more content than when I'm with you. You're my best friend, you've supported me and encouraged me…you make me happy." Drew laughs softly. "I can't believe I'm telling you this finally. Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's because when they offered me the show in New York, I realized how big a part of me there was that wanted to turn it down because I didn't want to leave you just yet."

"I don't know what to think, Drew. This is-this, it's all too much," she tells him, wanting to be honest with him.

Her mind's still trying to process everything he's said. It's not as if she hadn't already spent the last few days driving herself crazy wondering if maybe Catherine had been right, but hearing him say the words is an entirely different story.

"Do you have any feelings for me?"

"I, no… yes. Maybe. I care about you, Drew. You know that, but is it something more? I don't know," she admits. Hasn't she spent the last few days trying to analyze her feelings?

"Why don't we," he leans a little closer toward her, "try a little experiment?" He cups the side of her face with one of his hands, and brings his lips a couple inches from hers. Hers seem to part in automatic response, and her eyes lock with his.

Now that he's told her how he feels, something inside of him has opened up and he feels emboldened by the world of possibilities.

He doesn't close the distance between them though; he's not going to make this easy on her. He's letting her decide what she wants. In her chest, her heart's starting to beat faster and faster. _This is it_, she thinks. What she decides in the next few seconds could change everything.

Is she ready to risk it?

—xx—

"Greg, GREG!" he calls out for the third time, finally catching the young man's attention.

"Sorry, Gris," he smiles apologetically, and quickly turns down the volume on his stereo. "I was just about to come find you."

"The skin cells we found under the victim's fingernails?"

"Yep, got a match through CODIS. The man's name is Devin Shepard; he's got a mile-long rap sheet…"

Greg multi-tasks, continuing to fill him in on the highlights of Shepard's criminal career, while hitting the print button on the computer screen so that Grissom can have the information to reference.

Seconds later with newly printed papers in hand, Grissom turns to go. "Thanks."

"No problem," Greg answers. "I just wish Nick and Catherine's case was as easy, or better yet I wish I was Sara and had the night off. You know she's at my favorite bar right now? I told Drew about it, The Drunken Bear… they're always playing really great music. They've got a karaoke night too, which is why I mentioned it in the first place. Of course that's Thursday night and tonight's Friday—"

"Greg," Grissom interrupts.

"Yeah, boss?"

"Get back to work."

—xx—

Is she ready to risk it?

"Yes," she murmurs a millisecond before her lashes lower and her lips touch his.

* * *

A/N: I have to admit this love-triangle thing is fun to write. Comments, feedback, constructive criticism are all appreciated.


	9. It's a Heart Thing

A/N: Best intentions to have posted this sooner, but among many other things, I've been sick twice more. Trying to play catch up now, and seemingly forever behind.

Disclaimer: See first two chapters.

* * *

What is he doing? It's all he can think. Scratch that, he's also quickly beginning to think he's lost his mind.

He's supposed to be at work right now, not driving to go to a bar – a bar! Clearly thinking straight has become a concept foreign to him.

It doesn't even matter the case is about wrapped, or that he knows Warrick and Brass can handle the rest of the details with their eyes blindfolded and one hand tied behind their backs. He is a professional. And this right here, this behavior he's currently recklessly engaging in, it's not him.

And there's only one person to blame. Sara. Drew. Sara. No, both. There are two people to blame for why he's acting completely contrary to everything that makes him _him_.

It's that picture in the newspaper. He's not sure whether to say it's mocking him or haunting him, or maybe a little bit of both. He hadn't found a good night sleep since he first laid eyes on that photo of Sara and Drew. There was just something about it. Something in their body language and on their faces, it-it struck something inside of him, something he couldn't quite put a name to, and he kept having the wildest urge to tear the photo into tiny little pieces. That, or burn it.

But what did he do instead? He placed the photo on his refrigerator door. (No wonder he feels like it's mocking-slash-haunting him.)

He doesn't know what he's doing. This jealousy has been eating him up inside since Drew first arrived, and for someone who likes to (try to) keep a tight rein on his emotions, it's been worse than hell.

He's going to The Drunken Bear – briefly he wonders who comes up with a name like that – but will Sara even be there? He's got no semblance of a plan in mind, since clear functioning and thinking aren't exactly his strong suits right now.

—xx—

There's nothing sweet or innocent about the kiss. It's seductive, and passionate, and _oh, my_ did Drew learn a thing or two while in France.

Andrew Howard, her best friend in the world, is most definitely skilled in the art of kissing a woman senseless. He knows how to kiss and kiss well, and yet, her heart's protesting _this isn't the way I'm supposed to be feeling. _

When they break apart, she doesn't have to say anything. He can read the answer on her face, as clear as if it was written on paper, and she watches the light go out of his eyes.

"Drew," she lays a tentative hand on his arm, "I'm sorry. I really am. I do love you, just…"

"Just not the way I want you to," he completes her unfinished thought. "It's okay, Sara. Really, I understand." He's saying the words, but to her, it sounds like he's trying to convince himself of their veracity. "I knew this outcome was a possibility… a probability."

"I…" She's at a loss, not knowing what to say to make things better. Why, oh why did she start this? He's her best friend, and now she's hurt him in a way she never wanted to. "I'm so sorry. I-I wish that…things were different." And she means it. She loves him but not the way he deserved. "You are the greatest guy."

She feels a single solitary tear escape from the corner of her eye and fall down her cheek. Drew reaches out and brushes it gently away with the soft pad of his thumb. "Shh, don't do that," he murmurs.

Placing her hand on top of his, she links their fingers together. "You're my best friend, and I don't want to lose you… do you think we can still… do you think we can get…" She can't make herself finish either question, so scared is she of his answer.

"Don't even think about it, Sara." He gives her a small smile, but she can still see the shadow of pain lurking in the depths of his eyes. "You can't get rid of me that easily. I love you, you know."

He could never walk away from her. He knows what demons and painful nightmares she hides behind that tough exterior she projects for the world. In many ways, she's still just a little girl who's witnessed more tragedy than a child ever should, and who just wants someone to love her and tell her it will be all right.

"I know." She gives him a watery smile, one filled with quiet gratitude. "I love you too." She feels shaky and overwhelmed, and leans forward to give him a hug, as much to comfort him as herself. She kisses him softly on his cheek, before placing a brief kiss to his lips, wishing to ease the hurt she's caused. "Thank you," she whispers.

A hairbreadth of a second passes, and then, "Grissom."

Grissom's name coming from Drew's lips draws a startled gasp from her and she jerks back quickly.

"What?"

"He's here."

She turns around and sees him across the room. She can't read his face, but his body language can be translated a mile away, and all the color drains from her face. Before she can think of what to do next, Grissom bolts out the door.

—xx—

"Go after him," he says gently.

"No," she shakes her head vehemently. She couldn't leave Drew to go to Grissom, not now.

He'd seen her face, right after she turned back around after seeing Grissom run out the door, and in his chest, his heart clutched tight in a sharp stabbing pain. He understood now, why she couldn't love him. She might not even realize it yet, but she'd already given her heart away. He never had a chance.

"Go," he repeats, "It's okay. You should go talk to him." The words are hard to say, but are said out of love for her. He wants her to be happy.

She looks like she wants to deny her desire to rush after Grissom, but then she studies his face for a few silent seconds, and finally nods. She stands and gives him a tight squeeze. "You are the best person I know, and there's someone out there who's right for you. She's just not me. And you don't know how sorry I am for that."

As she turns to go, he says her name and she looks back at him.

"Yeah?"

"He's a fool if he doesn't love you back."

—xx—

She catches up with him in the parking lot.

"Grissom, wait."

He takes another couple of steps before coming to a stop. His back is to her, as if he's debating whether to keep going and ignore her or to turn around and face her. The latter choice wins out in the end.

"You can't just show up here and then run away… not without any explanation."

His face reveals nothing; it's a perfectly concealed blank canvas.

"Why are you mad at me?" She needs him to be honest with her.

"I'm not mad at you." He sees her disbelief. "I'm not, not really." He's mad at himself, for waiting, for _everything_.

"Well you could have fooled me with that display then. You rushed out the door so fast I would've thought the bar had suddenly caught on fire."

No reply from Grissom.

Silence echoes between them, even as sounds from the city that never sleeps stir around them in the brisk night air. Until finally—

"I'm just…"

"You're just what, Grissom? You got to spell it out for me. I'm not a mind reader. I know you think I am sometimes, but I'm not. What are you doing here?"

"I don't know, Sara."

_Really_, she wants to scream, _that's all you got?_

How is it that this man can work her up and drive her so mad in a space of a few seconds that it takes all that's within her to fight the urge to throw a tantrum like a young child?

Why is she putting herself through this again? She is crazy for thinking that Grissom would actually man up and have the balls to say what he felt for once. Once, just once, why couldn't he be honest with her? Why couldn't he be honest with himself?

"Let's not play this game, Grissom. I'm tired of it. You've done it all before with Hank. And now with Drew. Every time a man shows up in my life, it's like… something changes inside of you."

His gaze shifts away, he can't refute the truth in her words.

"Then all the other times in between, it's you like me, you don't like me. I never know whether to bring a coat to knock off the arctic chill from your gaze, or a fire extinguisher to battle the flames you can create inside me."

More silence. She tries again.

"Make up your mind. I don't want to do this… I don't want to play this emotional tug of war with you anymore."

His heart's screaming at him to open up, but he has spent one too many years convincing himself she deserved better than him, and old habits are hard to break. She would eventually come around to the same conclusion herself, and when she did, she would leave. He thinks of Drew and what he'd witnessed in the bar.

"You should date Drew. He seems like a great—"

"What?" It's the last thing she expects from him, and that's why it takes her a full moment to register precisely what he said. "Wait, you're giving me _permission_ to date Drew?"

She thinks of Drew. Nice, sweet, incredible Drew, who is sitting inside the bar broken-hearted because of her. He loved her, he actually had the guts to tell her how he felt, and she couldn't return the feelings because instead she's halfway in love with this idiot standing in front of her. She's caused Drew pain, and for what reason? Grissom's still too scared to even try.

If this was all some sort of cosmic joke being played on her, the Universe could go screw itself... preferably right after she murdered Grissom.

Grissom though, for someone so usually observant, completely misses the pissed-off gleam that's settled in her eyes. "I wouldn't have put it in those exact words maybe, but yeah, I guess I am."

"You miserable self-absorbed emotionally-repressed oaf of a man! How dare you give _me_ permission to date Drew? I don't need or want your permission. And you know what? You can shove _your permission_," disdain dripping heavily on the last words, "so far up where the sun doesn't shine…"

He takes a step back, as she advances toward him at an alarming, fear-provoking kind of rate. She looks like a woman on a mission – a mission to cause harm, bodily harm to him more specifically, and lots of it. Even as he continues his retreat, there's a small corner of his mind that keeps thinking she's never looked as stunningly beautiful as she does right then.

(But he wisely decides that now is probably not the best time to bring that particular thought up. It wouldn't be, uh, fully appreciated.)

She continues, completely unabashed, refusing to be deterred by anything. "Who died and gave you the right to tell me how to live my life? Huh?" She pokes him – yes, actually pokes him. _God, she's become that kind of woman_ – in the chest hard, once; twice. "Who, Grissom? Who!"

He's seen her upset and irritated before, plenty of times, but not like this. _Never_ like this. He thinks he can actually feel the coils of anger radiating from her, dancing in the air.

"No one, sorry, I—"

"Damn right you better be sorry." She feels the tension and anger spiraling out within her, pushing her further on edge. Her control is slipping fast. She breaks eye contact with him suddenly and spins on her heels, bowing slightly as she clutches her sides tightly.

"Sara?"

She ignores him, and continues to try and calm herself by taking several deep breaths. Everything's catching up inside of her and colliding. Her head's feeling a little like she's floating under water and there's a slight buzzing sound she's been ignoring for a while now. She knows it's thanks to the alcohol and the emotional tight rope she's been balancing on, but right now, she really needs a clear head.

She tightens her arms around herself; she needs to keep it together. No emotional falling to pieces, not in front of Grissom. _ Later_, she thinks, _later she can come apart._

"Sara, about Drew—"

_I don't want to date Drew, you idiot_.

"What did you just say?"

_No, no, I didn't say that aloud_. She hadn't meant to. _Oh, God, no._ She turns around quickly, denial ready on her tongue. "I didn't say anything important. Just mumbling nonsense."

"No," he says. What she said – what he thought he'd heard – is important. "No, I don't think so."

She glares at him. Mere seconds ago she couldn't get him to talk about his feelings, but now he expects her to what? Be an open book? Hello world, say hi to the world's biggest hypocrite; his name is Grissom. "Just drop it."

"Did you mean it?" He's not sure why he's being so persistent now, but he can't stop himself from asking. He's like a child who's been told not to touch the hot stove; he just can't resist the dangerous impulse.

She glances around the parking lot, a little amazed they'd not been interrupted once, taking her sweet time before redirecting her gaze to meet his. She lets out a breath, thinking what the hell. "Yeah," she murmurs, "I did. But it doesn't matter."

"How can you say that?"

"Okay then, tell me why it does?"

He quietly studies her, reading the tiny shifts of emotions that flit across her face. _This is it_, he thinks. _Do it, tell her._ He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

She sighs, because she already knew how it would play out. It always plays out the same way.

Different place, different time, different conversation.

But always the same conclusion.

"See, Grissom, that's why it doesn't matter. It just doesn't. I can't be with someone who doesn't want me back too." He looks like he's going to protest and she shakes her head, silencing him. "Unless I'm with another guy, or another guy flirts with me, and all of a sudden you come alive and you seem to give a crap about what I do and who I do it with."

"Sara—"

She stares at him, suddenly feeling bone-weary exhausted. Her anger's gone now, so is the adrenaline from it, and she feels she's got nothing left inside of her.

"What happens when you catch me, Grissom?" she asks quietly. "What happens then? Will you still be interested?"

* * *

A/N: Not much of a love triangle, I dashed that kind of quickly – btw, breaking Drew's heart nearly broke mine. [I'm sticking to my original storyline, even though part of me (really) wanted to take this story in a different windier path to geek love.] Would love to hear your thoughts on how things played out between Sara and Drew as well as Sara and Grissom's epic parking lot exchange.


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